Facade
by elbcw
Summary: 'Why are we stopping? Why do we need to stop? We should be going back to Paris. We should be-' 'We have stopped, majesty,' said Aramis, 'because your valet is injured, and I cannot tend to his wound out there with the potential for us to be found.' The Musketeers have to deal with a dangerous situation and the King is not helping.


**Authors note: I started this before the whumptober prompts came out hoping I could get it to fit with one. I couldn't make that work so have left it on its own. I hope you enjoy it. **

**Facade**

'Why are we going this way? Paris it that way. Safety is that way. You are all imbeciles.'

The four Musketeers ignored the King of France. Porthos continued to push the whining Royal through the forest, away from the danger. The King continued to berate them as they hurried him along. More than once Porthos considered simply grabbing the man and slinging him over his shoulder, but that would probably carry a death sentence for him and his friends. The monarch would not see it as a rescue, he would probably see it as a kidnapping.

'Why didn't you stay and fight? You are my soldiers. You should be able to fight. There weren't that many of them.'

Porthos shook his head as he encouraged the angry man ahead of him. He glanced back at Athos and Aramis who were practically carrying the heroic valet between them. The man was deathly pale, his head bowed, but he was trying. The man was trying to walk, trying not to slow them down.

Ahead of them, d'Artagnan was clearing the way, checking around them, then doubling around, watchful for any sign of the attackers following them.

Far behind them, they had left Treville and several of their fellow Musketeers dealing with the attackers. It had quickly become apparent that they could not beat the attackers with the King shouting at them from the open carriage. The man was making a target of himself.

Treville had yelled at them to take the King. They had not needed telling twice.

Porthos had grabbed the King who had been very shocked at the treatment. The loyal valet had rushed forward as one of the attackers levelled a gun at the oblivious Royal, taking the ball that was meant for King Louis. Aramis had raised and fired his gun, killing the man, wiping the smug smile from his face in the process. Athos had reached the shocked valet, pulling his arm around him and urging the injured man after the King and Porthos.

The incident had taken seconds and felt like a lifetime ago as they continued to push through the trees, away from danger. Porthos wished the King would understand, but they had not had a chance to stop, to tell him why they were breaking all the rules of Royal etiquette.

'Let go of me,' moaned the King, trying to push Porthos away, 'I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.'

Porthos wanted to point out that the King's idea of walking would be a lot slower than they needed to be going at that moment.

D'Artagnan turned off the animal track they had been following. Porthos knew his friend knew the area. D'Artagnan was probably leading them to a place where they could shelter.

The shelter came in the form of a cave. D'Artagnan led them inside with confidence.

'Clemont brought me here once when we were delivering a package. The weather was apocalyptic, and we had to shelter. It goes back a long way. The horses even came in.'

The cave opened up into a wide, high, cavern. The ground was dry, and a few shafts of light penetrated from above them. Porthos looked around in awe of the natural beauty of the place. The King was unimpressed.

'Why are we stopping? Why do we need to stop? We should be going back to Paris. We should be-'

'We have stopped, majesty,' said Aramis, 'because your valet is injured, and I cannot tend to his wound out there with the potential for us to be found.'

Porthos winced, Aramis had very much spoken out of turn, the King did not look impressed. He was about to speak, no doubt to soundly put Aramis in his place when their reluctant diplomat stepped forward.

'Majesty,' said Athos, his voice calm, filled with reason, 'you have been walking for some time and need to rest. We will take the opportunity, as you rest, to tend to your injured man. Once you are rested, we will be on our way.'

The King stared at Athos for a few seconds before sighing dramatically and walking further into the cave. D'Artagnan followed the monarch at a respectful distance. Porthos turned his attention to Aramis who was knelt by the injured valet, easing the man's doublet open and pulling his frilled shirt up, to uncover the wound.

Porthos grabbed Aramis' medical bag which had been dropped on the floor. He rolled out the carefully packed bag across the ground in reach of Aramis.

'What do you need?'

Aramis did not reply for a few seconds. Porthos grabbed the valet's hand when he thrashed a little, pain inadvertently caused by Aramis' examination. The valet gasped and tried to wriggle away. Porthos placed his hand on the man's shoulder keeping him still. He looked the young man in the eyes, trying to offer whatever comfort he could. He knew it would not be much.

The valet was breathing hard, the pain overwhelming him, he gasped a few times as Aramis continued to look at the wound. Porthos wished the man would pass out. He squeezed the man's hand. The valet looked at him, fear in his eyes, he tried to say something, but seemed unable to form any words.

Porthos glanced at Aramis who was picking through his medical bag one-handed. He pulled out a couple of bandages. He wadded one bandage up and pressed it to the wound he had been covering with his other hand before taking the second bandage and wrapping it around the man's stomach. The valet moaned quietly as Aramis was forced to jostle him about as he pushed the bandage around his middle. When the man became still Porthos sighed. He watched as Aramis checked the man was still breathing before going back to firmly tying the bandage. Once he was done Aramis leaned back on his heels, he looked up at Porthos and Athos in turn, he shook his head.

'He'll be dead within the hour. The ball is too deep...in the infirmary, with proper lighting and more supplies and a proper physician he might stand a chance...but not here...not with just me.'

Porthos reached out and squeezed his brother's shoulder. They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound the laboured breathing of the valet.

'Hopefully, he won't come around again,' said Aramis quietly.

'Why don't you want him to come around?'

Porthos and Aramis twisted around. The King was stood a few feet away looking at them all. Porthos and Aramis climbed to their feet, now that the immediate danger had passed the normal rules of Royal etiquette had returned. They bowed. Athos stepped forward, about to speak.

'I asked Aramis,' the King said.

Athos remained silent.

'I'm sorry, Majesty,' said Aramis, 'but I am unable to save him. The injury is too severe...I...do not have the skills to save him.'

The King looked at Aramis for a few seconds.

'I am sure you have done your best...does he know?'

Aramis shook his head, 'I don't know, Majesty. I don't know what state his mind it in. He was obviously in pain.'

The King nodded, Porthos wondered what had caused the King to go from spoiled aristocrat to calm monarch. He glanced at d'Artagnan, suspected the young Musketeer had something to do with the change in attitude. Perhaps once the wound-up King had calmed down a bit he was prepared to listen to his soldier and try to understand why they had spirited him away from the fight and why they had sought shelter.

'I will sit with him...if that is the right thing to do?'

Porthos could not help raising an eyebrow at the slight hesitancy from the King.

'It is the right thing, Majesty. There is nothing that can be done, but company, words of comfort...they cannot cause him harm,' said Aramis as he stepped aside.

The King moved forward. He was about to kneel on the floor, but Aramis stopped him.

'One moment, Majesty,' he said as he quickly shed his weapon belts and undid his doublet.

Aramis lay the jacket on the ground next to the valet. The King managed a nod of thanks before sinking down beside the man. The Musketeers moved a few paces away, not wishing to intrude on the King.

'How well do you know the area?' Athos asked d'Artagnan without looking away from the King.

D'Artagnan turned towards him and shrugged his shoulders, 'not well. Honestly, if it had not been for Clemont that time, I would not have known this was here.'

Athos looked at d'Artagnan as he indicated the cave, they were all sheltering in.

'I think we need to return to the site of the skirmish. D'Artagnan you and I will go. Aramis and Porthos will stay here with the King and…' Athos paused realising he did not know the valet's name.

'His name is Louis,' said the King quietly without looking up from his valet, 'when we were alone sometimes, I used to tease him about it. He always took it with such good grace.'

Athos did not say anything for a few seconds, Porthos guessed he wanted to be sure the monarch had finished speaking.

'We will be as quick as we can, majesty,' Athos said, 'you will be safe with Porthos and Aramis. Once we are gone, they will take it in turns to scout the area, to be sure we were not followed.'

The King nodded, but still did not turn to look at them. Porthos found it odd to see the King acting in such a way. He was used to the man being theatrically over the top about everything. Seeing him knelt by his dying valet and not remonstrating with any of them was at odds to his usual persona.

Athos and d'Artagnan spent a few moments checking their weapons before walking from the cave. Porthos watched them go.

'I'll have a look around,' he said, turning back to Aramis who was hovering behind the King, looking a little unsure what he should do.

Aramis nodded, 'be careful. If you see any sources of water remember where they are in case we need some later.'

Porthos nodded, he glanced at the King who was still absorbed in his silent vigil by Louis who had not stirred since he passed out.

'I'll be back soon,' said Porthos as he turned to go.

He hoped Aramis would manage to keep himself out of trouble whilst he was away.

MMMM

Aramis watched Porthos disappear into the thick woods that surrounded the cave entrance. He wondered how Clemont had come to find the cave in the first place. Aramis decided, when they got back, he would interrogate the young man and find out. He hoped the story was a good one. They would probably all want a tall tale to entertain them once they returned.

He stood at the entrance to the cave or a few seconds before turning back to the King. The monarch was watching him, his head slightly tilted. Aramis sighed inwardly realising he would have to converse with the man and try to keep himself out of trouble in the process.

'I apologise for talking out of turn earlier, majesty,' he said as he moved to crouch on the other side of the still unconscious valet.

'No, Aramis,' replied the King with a shake of his head, 'I forget that I know nothing of the real world. I know you and the others were only looking out for my best interests. I can sit in my throne room and talk of leading my men into battle, many Kings have, but even then, we are protected. Loyalty such as yours is rare. I know that each of you would lay down your life for me. I am not sure I could do that for someone else… especially someone like me.'

The King smiled, Aramis was surprised by the man's candour, he knew it would not last. The King would return to his usual self once they were out of danger. He wondered if the King relished the moments, he could let the facade slip. Although the current circumstances were not pleasant.

Aramis checked the bandage he had put on the valet, Louis moaned slightly, blood was slowly seeping through the cloth. The King watched Aramis work in silence. When he was sure there was nothing more he could do Aramis closed Louis' doublet over him again. The King shifted slightly and rested one hand on his valet's chest.

'Is he in pain?' he asked.

Aramis nodded, 'I've seen men with this type of wound before when they are conscious it is unsettling to watch their reaction-'

'Have any of you four suffered like this?'

Aramis looked up at the King who was looking down at Louis.

'Not to this extent, but there have been injuries. Athos was hurt quite badly by a stray musket ball once, but that was in battle. Porthos managed to carry him to the surgeon's tent. They patched him up, but it was worrisome for a bit…'

Aramis watched the King consider his next words carefully.

'Have you...ever...helped a fellow soldier...on their way, if they were injured to the point that they would not recover?'

Aramis could not help the shocked expression on his face, he was not sure how to respond. With honesty was the conclusion he came to.

'I have not, personally, provided that...help, sire. But I have been there when it has been done. Usually, if the man is in such pain, screaming pain, it is the...kindest thing to do. I have only ever seen soldiers with years of service, do that. I think they don't want those of us with more battles to fight to be haunted by the worry that we may have made the wrong decision.'

The King nodded, 'I know it goes against God's will, but I think I approve of the practice. You said that Louis would be dead in the hour. He seems peaceful now, but if he had needed it...would you have...for him.'

'I don't know, majesty. I cannot know. It is something that I think you can only decide in the moment.'

The King nodded, apparently satisfied. Aramis hoped the monarch would move onto another topic. Despite the dying man between them, the talk of death was not something he wished to linger on.

Once Aramis was satisfied that the King's valet was as comfortable as he could be in his final moments he rose from the man's side and moved away. The King did not react to the move. Aramis was glad; he did not like talking to the man if he did not have to. He was always worried he would say something he should not. His outburst earlier had worried him, it was not until the King had essentially forgiven him that he was able to put the incident behind him. Although the King would probably remember it at some inopportune moment in the weeks to come.

He wandered towards the cave entrance. The opening was large, but the cave went back enough that even in torrential rain they would have been dry if they moved further in. Aramis could well imagine the horses walking into the cave and patiently waiting for the bad weather to pass when d'Artagnan had stopped there before. The area immediately in front of the entrance was rocky with several well-established bushes and trees shielding them from prying eyes. Aramis was sure they would not have found it without d'Artagnan's knowledge of its existence.

A movement from the tangled bushes in front of him made him reach for his gun and silently walk forward a few paces. He did not want to alarm the King who would most likely panic and make an already dangerous situation worse. As Aramis reached the bushes, he quickly holstered his weapon before rushing forward and grabbing Porthos before he collapsed to the floor.

'What happened?' asked Aramis as he tried to work out the cause of his friend's weakness.

'Shot.'

One word that sent Aramis into keen alertness. As he guided Porthos to the ground he looked around, trying to discern the enemy from behind every leaf, every tree trunk, every branch.

'I got him,' panted Porthos.

'I didn't hear it,' said Aramis as he returned his attention to his injured brother.

Porthos shook his head, 'not a gun...crossbow.'

Aramis could not help looking around again. A silent and deadly weapon had been used against his friend.

'He's dead, Aramis...look after me,' said Porthos after a few seconds.

'Sorry.'

Aramis crouched down looking for the bolt from the crossbow. Porthos had one hand clutched to his side, Aramis peeled the hand away from the injury before pressing it back again.

'That's nasty,' he said.

Porthos looked at him, a look of disbelief on his face.

'But you know that already,' said Aramis. 'Let's get back undercover and out of sight.'

Porthos allowed Aramis to pull him to his feet, the Musketeer was breathing quickly and panting. Aramis knew he was on borrowed time; Porthos was exhausted. The time he had spent worrying about the attacker had cost Porthos dearly. With shuffling steps Aramis managed to guide Porthos back into the cave and helped him down to the ground a few yards from the King and Louis, who was, thankfully, showing no signs of coming around. Aramis did not want to have to deal with the King fretting about his dying valet at that moment.

'What happened?' asked the King, anxiety evident in his voice.

'It's dealt with majesty,' Porthos managed to say through clenched teeth. 'I came across a man, he shot me, but I dealt with him. There's no...one...else out there…'

Aramis glanced at the King who looked at them both for a few seconds before resuming his vigil over the dying valet. Aramis was pleased, the King could have spent his time constantly interrupting but seemed content to let Aramis deal with Porthos.

Aramis pulled his medical bag closer; he knew he would not be able to stitch the wound, the bolt was not stuck in Porthos' side, it had simply skimmed across the flesh. But unlike the furrow a musket ball would cause, the wound was deeper and more debilitating. Aramis knew his friend had every chance of surviving, but he would have to clean the wound and dress it quickly. The risk of infection was at the forefront of Aramis' mind. Porthos' reaction to having the wound cleaned was another worry.

'Just do it,' said Porthos who still had his teeth clenched.

Aramis wondered, not for the first time if his friend could read his mind.

'Try not to hit me then,' muttered Aramis in response, knowing Porthos was likely to be unintentionally combative.

After ensuring Porthos still had his hand firmly over the wound, Aramis gathered what he would need to clean and dress it. He glanced at the King who was not watching him, the monarch was looking at his valet. The young man looked very pale; Aramis wondered how much longer he would live for.

Knowing that Porthos was the one he should be concentrating on he turned back to his friend. Porthos had his eyes closed, he was trying to calm his breathing, Aramis could tell his friend was in a lot of pain. Aramis unstoppered the bottle of alcohol he had in his bag, Porthos had managed to pull his shirt free from the wound ready for it to be cleaned. Aramis paused for a moment before grabbing a piece of leather from his bag and holding it out to Porthos.

'Bite down on this, I know you said you dealt with the attacker, but there could be more,' said Aramis.

Porthos opened his eyes, he looked at Aramis for a few seconds before nodding and taking the leather. Porthos nodded again when he was ready. Aramis paused for a second as Porthos held his breath, before pouring a generous amount of the alcohol onto the wound. Porthos tensed up, he tried to push Aramis away, but Aramis was ready. Firmly pushing Porthos back down Aramis poured more alcohol, liberally covering the wound, washing away any debris that had worked its way in. When he had finished Porthos was again breathing hard, his head tilted back, his fists clenched.

'I need you to sit up for me,' said Aramis. 'Porthos, I need you to sit up. I have to dress this now, it can't wait...Porthos?'

The lack of response worried Aramis as he pressed a wadded-up bandage over the clean wound. Porthos reacted suddenly to the pain caused by the action, he tried to pull free of Aramis grasp.

As Aramis tried to keep Porthos still as he rode out the waves of pain, he was aware of a presence beside him.

'What can I do?' asked the King.

Aramis looked up, a little stunned, 'majesty,' he said, 'you should stay with Louis-'

'My valet died a few minutes ago, there are no signs of life in him. I know what death looks like,' said the King, 'and this man is still very much alive. Let me help.'

Aramis nodded, 'er...I just need him to be still and sat up a little whilst I wrap this bandage around him.'

The King, with a remarkable lack of care for his regal clothing, knelt beside Porthos and with a strength, Aramis was surprised by, eased the injured and now confused man up slightly.

Porthos might have been aware that it was the King of France holding him, which probably explained the man's concerted effort to keep still, Aramis guessed he would never know, he doubted Porthos would admit to it. With the King's help, Aramis managed to wrap the bandage around Porthos and tied it firmly.

'Will he live?' asked the King as he helped Aramis to lie the panting man back down.

'Yes, majesty. The wound is nasty but provided it's kept clean he should be fine. He won't be working for a while though.'

The King nodded, 'a shame. France needs her soldiers, but I am sure once recovered he will make up for the time he misses.'

Porthos had finally passed out, Aramis straightened his friend up making him as comfortable as he could, given the circumstances. The King was again at his side, holding Aramis' doublet, which had been acting as a blanket for the Royal knees. Aramis looked up at the monarch with confusion until the King gently lay the jacket over Porthos.

'He will grow cold. I know that much about the shock that injuries such as his can cause,' said the King. 'It may surprise you that I do pay attention to my minister and advisors. I may not have tasted the glory...or horror...of battle but I have a fair idea what goes on. I have been nearby.'

Aramis nodded, 'it must be difficult to be so close to the...action...but not able to fully immerse yourself into it.'

The King smiled, 'a good response,' he said with a knowing nod.

The King looked back at his valet, Aramis followed his gaze.

'I don't even know if he had a family...we spoke, but never of his personal life. He was sensible with his answers...rather like you are most of the time. He knew what to say to appease me and what to say to encourage me to do what I needed to do… I shall miss young Louis. Good valets are hard to find…'

The King looked at Aramis his eyes on the cross he wore. Aramis wondered if the King knew it had belonged to his wife, although there was no spark of recognition.

'You're a religious man?' he asked.

Aramis nodded.

'Perhaps you could say some words for Louis?'

Aramis nodded a second time before glancing at Porthos.

'I will watch your friend,' the King said before moving to the other side of the unconscious Musketeer and kneeling on the stony ground.

Aramis moved to the dead man's side, he crossed himself and began to pray. He was aware of the King joining in with some of the words quietly.

MMMM

_Two days later..._

The priest closed his bible, crossed himself and nodded respectfully to the mourner stood opposite him. Aramis, who was standing a few feet away, waited patiently. Other Musketeers were stationed further away, all out of uniform, but fully alert, nonetheless. The mourner in his plain, but well made, clothes looked at the simple coffin for a few more seconds before taking a step back and turning to Aramis.

'Thank you,' said the King. 'I wanted to pay my respects without pomp and ceremony. There are times when all the... the nonsense that surrounds my life are out of place. Louis does not need to be turned into a spectacle. He died saving my life... he deserved a proper burial without those simpering fools who cling to my every word and action.'

The King had quietly asked Treville to arrange for him to attend his valet's funeral. Knowing the King would have his way regardless Treville had made the necessary arrangements. The King had ensured he was not seen leaving the palace. Aramis had been a little perturbed to be asked to be the Kings close escort for the trip, but he had done as he was asked. They had spoken a little on the short walk to the graveside. The King had asked him how Porthos was, which had surprised Aramis. The Musketeer was starting to wonder if he should reassess his view of the Monarch. As they walked away from the graveside the King proved Aramis right.

'I may outwardly be dismissive and childish,' he said, his voice low so that only Aramis could hear. 'But I do pay attention to what is happening. I have to maintain an outward persona for the benefit of those that need a flamboyant leader. The ambassadors and diplomats need a King that can deal with them and sometimes that King needs to be susceptible to manipulation for the good of his country.'

The King paused, he looked at Aramis for a few seconds.

'I appreciate what you do. I appreciate what my people go through. But I cannot always show that appreciation.'

Aramis decided he could risk speaking out of turn, 'I think, majesty, we know it is a facade and we, in turn, appreciate how difficult your life is.'

The King nodded before smiling and giving Aramis a small wink as they approached the carriage that would whisk the king back to the Palace. As the footman opened the door the King spoke again, but loud enough to be heard by all the people in the vicinity.

'When was this carriage cleaned? This is not worthy of me. I am not some pauper... Is that horse lane? What if it collapses? Will I be expected to walk?'

The footman closed the carriage door, muffling the King's words slightly. As the carriage pulled away Aramis watched it go. He smiled, the few moments he had shared with the King were something he would not forget, but he was also pleased

the status quo had resumed.

The End.


End file.
